


Things That Never Happened: Stimulated

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [52]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Imprinting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of the Mal universe. Trip has a problem, and Mal is always happy to help. WARNING: Reading this could destroy your idea of Mal forever. What has been seen cannot be unseen. Just go on to the next part if this worries you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Never Happened: Stimulated

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.
> 
> WARNING: Reading this could destroy your idea of Mal forever. What has been seen cannot be unseen. Just go on to the next part if this worries you.

Trip had been in a lot of embarrassing situations. That first Decon session with T'Pol, for example. Of course, that would have been a whole lot worse if he hadn't been so ticked at her at the time. Or the time those ugly, big-eared aliens took over the ship, leaving Trip running around in just his underwear, trying to help. That time most of the crew had been unconscious, so it was basically just Jon who saw him, when he was desperate for assistance of any kind. But the look T'Pol had given him when he'd awakened her was pretty humiliating for a second. There was the time on Risa when he had ended up, again in his underwear, tied up in a basement, having been snookered (but not in a good way) by shapeshifting alien muggers. His only consolation at the time had been that Marcus was in the exact same boat, and _he_ was supposed to be smarter about such things.

But the time Trip was most reminded of at the moment was the time he'd come back from the Xyrillian ship, after innocently helping to fix their engines, only to find himself inadvertently knocked up. He hadn't done anything remotely inappropriate while over there, but that was a cold comfort during the long days it took them to track that ship down again. Probably the _worst_ single moment was lifting his shirt, in front of the whole Bridge crew, to show the Klingons why, exactly, he needed to go back on the Xyrillian ship with them.

Thinking of his previous humiliations aboard _Enterprise_ was supposed to help Trip put this current... issue in perspective. At least that had been the idea. But the only conclusion Trip had come to so far was that right now, he was experiencing the nadir of his personal dignity, and he knew it for a fact because he'd just examined all the previous contenders.

Phlox was professional, as always. Trip appreciated that. After a brief exam that had Trip thinking about mismatched socks, roaches, mathematical equations, and other neutral topics with a vengeance, the Denobulan had politely stepped outside the privacy curtains to analyze some data at the computer, leaving Trip with no witnesses to the incredible discomfort he experienced when pulling his uniform back on. At least, until Mal had poked his head around the curtain. He, of course, didn't bother _asking_ if he could come in and help; he just came in and started dressing Trip, tidying him up until he met Mal's exacting specifications. Although somehow Trip didn't think the prominent bulge in his jumpsuit was really regulation.

"Mal, Mal, please, could you stop—" Trip took a breath, grabbing Mal's wrists as the dark-haired man was fluttering over him. "Could you just stop touching me?" He couldn't quite meet Mal's eyes as he made the pained request, although frankly Trip had to wonder how there was enough blood in his body left for... other places when so much of it seemed to be rushing to his _face_ lately.

Mal said nothing, just obediently dropped to his knees beside Trip. Any minute Phlox would come in with Jon, and they'd all have a nice professional talk about whatever the h—l was wrong with Trip, and possibly there would be some snickering that Trip would just have to put up with, and—Mal was actually really attractive, wasn't he? Why hadn't Trip ever noticed that before? I mean, two years of living with someone... sharing the same small cabin... sharing the same bed... constantly in contact with each other... you'd think you'd notice when that someone had glittering blue-grey eyes, perfectly sculpted cheekbones, luminescent skin... Trip knew for a fact that the muscles hidden under Mal's shirt could be described as nothing less than rippling, although he would have to imagine just exactly what it would feel like to have them bunched under his hands, around his—

Trip yanked himself out of his speculation with a gasp of panic and a step backwards, turning quickly away from Mal who was gazing up at him with a quizzical expression. There was something really wrong with him, Trip realized—I mean, _obviously_ there was something wrong with him, he wouldn't be in Sickbay otherwise, but there must be something wrong with his _mind_ as well. It wasn't just some strange physical reaction. There was something wrong in his _brain_. There had to be, for him to be thinking of Mal in... _that way_.

Well, Trip had always thought the kneeling was obscene. But now it was also incredibly tempting as well. Quickly he hopped back up on the biobed, wincing as he did so. That at least would keep him in one place. Although now he felt the urge to reach out and run his fingers through Mal's short, dark hair, around the shell of his ear, the curve of his jaw... He knew Mal would enjoy it, too, at least on some level, and--mentally Trip slapped himself and looked away, staring at the curtain and forcing himself to list off the three principle equations of warp field physics. And their corollaries.

An excruciatingly long and uncomfortable time passed before Dr. Phlox finally returned, Archer in tow. Trip neatly clasped his hands in his lap, wondering if they concealed anything at all.

"So what's going on?" Archer asked worriedly, glancing between Trip and the doctor.

"I'm ordering Mr. Tucker on medical leave," Phlox announced, in his oddly pleasant tone. Trip was as surprised as Archer appeared to be. "For at least twenty-four hours, possibly more."

"What's wrong with him?" Archer insisted, glancing over his friend. Aside from looking distinctly uncomfortable, Trip seemed healthy enough.

"Mr. Tucker," Phlox began instead, facing the engineer, "while you were on the Zeenabian ship, did you consume any food or drink?"

Trip thought back a day, to his latest 'good deed' on behalf on _Enterprise_ and Jon's apparent desire to become an altruistic mechanic to all species. "Well, I wasn't there too long, Doc," he pointed out, not understanding what this had to do with his, er, problem. "It was just a few hours." Phlox looked at him patiently, and Trip sighed. "Um... yeah, right at the end I guess, their chief engineer, Zela, was real anxious for me to try some kind of juice they had. I forget what it was called now."

"And did you?" Phlox persisted.

"Well, yeah," Trip answered. Jon was starting to give him a look, even though drinking a little juice could hardly be called inappropriate or ill-advised. "She was so keen on it, I figured it was some kind of ritual thing, thanking me for my help or something. Kind of rude to refuse and all." Trip was starting to resent the expression on Archer's face; he knew if his oh-so-friendly Captain had been there, he would've drunk a gallon of this stuff to please the locals. Of course, there was something kind of sexy about Jon's frown, really... It was just so _commanding_ , reminding Trip that Jon was indeed in a position to be judgmental about the habits of his crew... And speaking of Jon being in _positions_ —Trip shook his head quickly and tried to remember what Phlox had been saying. "Why?"

"Commander," the doctor continued, in the same mysterious vein, "did you ever get the impression that this... Zela... was... interested in you. In an intimate sense."

Trip's eyes widened. "Trip," Archer said in his warning tone, glaring daggers of exasperation at his friend.

"I didn't do anything!" Trip protested, his voice almost a wail. Mal scooted closer to him, gently stroking Trip's shin through his uniform, and that was _exactly_ the last thing Trip needed right now. Mentally he shooed Mal away from touching him and the hand dropped away. "You don't know what it was like over there, Captain!"

"Your report said they were very... friendly," Archer reminded him, a little awkwardly. _Good_ , Trip thought. _Let someone else be uncomfortable for a while_.

"They're runnin' around half-naked, practically havin' sex in the hallways," Trip elaborated, trying to get the words out without encouraging the pictures to run through his mind. He ended up fidgeting on the biobed anyway. "You know what 'hello' and 'good-bye' are in Zeenabian? An a-s-grab," he answered bluntly. "Left cheek for 'hello,' right cheek for 'good-bye.' And let me tell ya, these people are _always_ comin' and goin'."

"Trip, I _know_ we always say to try and blend in with the people we meet, but—"

"I didn't do anything!" Trip repeated, frustration mounting. "I kept my hands to myself, I just worked on the engines." And d—n, Jon was somehow sexy even when he was rolling his eyes at Trip. Funny how Trip hadn't ever really noticed this before...

"What's wrong with him?" Archer demanded of Phlox again, but in a less concerned tone.

"I believe Mr. Tucker has been poisoned."

That dropped a bomb in the room. For a couple seconds Trip was even able to forget about the discomfort he was in as he stared at the doctor. For a couple seconds, anyway.

"Poisoned?" Archer repeated.

"Yes," Phlox continued easily. "I believe the juice he was given just before leaving the Zeenabian ship contained a large amount of a certain compound which appears to have... deleterious effects on human physiology."

Archer was starting to look a little guilty now. His discomfort eased Trip's, or at least distracted him from it. "You thought I had some d—n alien STD, didn't you?" Trip accused darkly. He squirmed in his seat, restless. "Go on, admit it!"

The Captain focused on Phlox, wisely choosing not to answer that question. "Is he in serious danger, Doctor?"

"Well, I can't say for certain," Phlox replied unhelpfully. "Although my initial tests indicate the compound should... dissipate from his system within twenty-four hours."

"Why would they poison him?" Archer pressed, shaking his head. "It doesn't make sense. He'd just finished helping them with repairs."

"It's possible the compound was not intended to cause any damage," Phlox pointed out. "They may simply have been unaware of the effect it would have on humans. Or," he was forced to admit, "the effect it has on humans may be similar to what they were hoping to achieve, but to a lesser degree."

Trip sighed as he realized the inevitable moment had come. Poor choice of words, there. But the only possible question Jon could ask next was—"What effect is that?"

"The compound appears to be very stimulating to certain parts of human anatomy," Phlox answered tactfully, giving the Captain a look.

Phlox's look, combined with Trip's, began to fill in the gaps in Archer's understanding. "What? Oh. _Ohhhhhhh._ " He shot a sideways glance at Trip.

"Yeah," the engineer agreed, rubbing his hand across his eyes tiredly.

"Um, well," Archer commented, captainly dignity showing through his own reddening cheeks.

"Yeah," Trip replied, more emphatically this time.

"Twenty-four hours, then, huh?" Archer confirmed, trying to gaze at his friend dispassionately.

"That is my estimate," Phlox agreed.

"Do you think we need to... find these people again?" the Captain queried, gathering up the last threads of professionalism. Jon was really so cute when he was trying to be professional. Cute in a hot sense, that is. "To ask about a treatment, or... anything." Trip wriggled around on the biobed again, wondering if he could get away with a little in-uniform adjustment now that the secret was out.

Phlox shrugged. "My analysis shows that the compound should break down without any other... ill effects," he reiterated. "So I don't think it necessary to contact the Zeenabians at this time. However," he added sternly to Trip, who tried very hard to sit still and pay attention, "if you start experiencing any other symptoms, I want you to contact me right away." He directed a look down towards Mal, who nodded quickly. And who was, by the way, a good-lookin' man, kneeling at Trip's feet, just aching to do whatever he could to please him...

"I'll be sure to do that, Doc," Trip agreed with heavy resignation, forcing his gaze away from Mal.

"Well," Archer began, turning back to his friend.

"Yeah," Trip sighed.

"Um... do you need anyth—"

"No!" All he needed was to get back to his cabin, Trip decided, although he wasn't exactly clear on how that was going to happen without adding an additional layer of discomfort and humiliation on top of everything he wore now.

"Okay," Archer agreed, not disappointed. "So... get better, Trip," he concluded, patting him gingerly on the shoulder. Trip winced at the contact, but it was gone before he could ask Jon to stop. Before Trip jumped him right in the middle of Sickbay and gave Phlox that opportunity to observe same-sex human mating that he'd always wanted. And that imagery? Really not helping.

"Right." With that, Archer left. Hopefully to _not_ write a report to Starfleet about this incident. Because if Starfleet saw any _more_ reports about Trip along these lines, they were going to decide he had only signed on to _Enterprise_ to bag alien babes and studs, and yank his commission. And _that_ imagery? Really not helping.

"You can't... give me anything, Doc?" Trip asked for perhaps the tenth time, hunching over a bit in an attempt to relieve a little pressure.

"I'm sorry," Phlox replied, shaking his head. "I think it would be best to let the compound leave your system on its own."

"Great." Sensing that the doctor could do no more for him, Trip slid off the biobed, graceless and grimacing.

"Good luck, Commander," Phlox called after him as Trip limped towards the door.

Mal scampered in Trip's wake. "I'm not really sure I understand," he confessed, when they were out in the hall.

"Forget it," Trip told him, a bit sharply, waving off his attempts to help the engineer walk. "I'm not gonna explain it to you. Let's just go home." Home, to his shower. Home, to his bed. Home, to his desk or floor or walls... because any of those places was equally suitable at the moment, when combined with Mal and those eyes and those hands and... "Listen, why don't you run off to Engineering for me?"

Mal gave him a questioning look. "What for?"

"Well, I'm off-duty for a while," Trip tried to tell him patiently. "So I'm not supposed to be down there myself. You could go down... there... for me..." Trip swallowed hard. "You could go to Engineering for me and check things out." It was no use; everything he said sounded sordid to him.

Mal looked him over studiously and narrowed his eyes. "You don't look very good to me. I think I shouldn't leave you."

Great, that was just great. "No, Mal, really, I need you to check on the... um..." _Quick, think of an engine part that doesn't sound dirty._ "Anti-matter injectors. Phase couplers. Thruster assembly unit. EPS modulators?" Ah, yes, the EPS modulators. Nothing sexy about _them_. All they did was erect a barrier so the air suction around the ship couldn't penetrate—oh, the h—l with it.

"Well, you could just ask Lt. Hess to do it," Mal suggested sensibly, nodding down the hallway. The petite brunette was striding in their direction, her slender curves accentuated by her form-fitting uniform, her pert chin jutting forward in determination... She looked like a sweetheart but had a spine of pure tritanium. Trip wondered what the other parts were made of.

And then he realized what he was thinking about his second-in-command and threw himself bodily around the corner, out of her sight. Mal stared after him in confusion.

"Mal," Lt. Hess greeted, walking by smoothly. She was on her way to do important things. None of which were Trip, the engineer reminded himself firmly.

As soon as she had disappeared down the hall Trip peeked out, relieved to be facing no one but Mal. "Let's just get home," Trip mumbled, pointing himself back towards his quarters.

"Dr. Phlox showed me some diagrams once," Mal commented after a few moments of silence. "About human reproduction." Trip gave a little groan and kept walking, or rather stumbling. "He said humans were rather sensitive about the subject." Fortunately he didn't seem embarrassed or uncomfortable at all, which was mildly helpful for Trip. Mal had seen him in plenty of awkward moments, after all—a consequence of two people sharing a space meant for only one. Or more like, three-quarters of one. "Come on, then." Mal grabbed Trip's elbow and propelled him down the hall. The extra strength, so self-assured and protective, seemed to enable Trip to walk a bit taller and faster, even as it made him dizzy with anticipation. And nauseous with disgust.

Trip finally staggered into his quarters, losing all pretense of decorum once out of public view. He collapsed onto the bed, curling up with his back to the room, although really he should have known that wasn't going to make Mal go away. Just moments later he felt a tugging at his feet. "What're you—" Trip lifted his head to look at the end of the bed, where Mal was removing his boots. "Would you please just stop?"

"You'll be more comfortable in something less constricting, I think," Mal judged, pulling his socks off as well.

Trip was about to ask how confiscating his socks was going to relieve pressure where he felt it most, then he felt the bed dip as Mal climbed onto it. Another on the increasingly long list of things he _really_ didn't need to be seeing or thinking about. "Mal, I'm serious, just stop—" Stop unzipping Trip's uniform. Stop pushing it off his shoulders. Stop tugging it off his legs. Stop talking in that soothing and somehow also arousing tone.

"You'll feel so much better without this on... I'll get a t-shirt and some sweatpants for you... Or maybe you'd rather have nothing at all on..."

Somehow Trip almost felt better with Mal's hands skimming his arms, carefully manipulating his unresisting limbs to remove the black vest under his uniform. Not that the unrelenting ache was easing... not at all... But it didn't feel _quite_ so sharp and painful, more like pleasant and promising.

And as soon as he realized that Trip rolled unceremoniously off the bed, right out of Mal's hands as he was trying to take the blue undershirt off, and threw himself into the bathroom. The bathroom, where was the floor was cold, the walls were cold, and there was no one else around. No one he could reach out and touch, no one he could sully, no one he could offend. Trip's hands shook; he was sweating and shivering at the same time as he sat on the floor, knees drawn up as much as he could, on the verge of calling Sickbay and begging Phlox to at least knock him out for the twenty-four hours, just so everyone would be safe from him.

The door to the bathroom slid open, but instead of entering Mal just dropped a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt within reach of Trip and left again. Gratefully Trip grabbed the clothes and forced himself to stand and change; he had to admit, he did feel somewhat better when free of the constraining briefs. He spent a few minutes liberally splashing cold water on his face and neck, then emerged with his gaze fixed firmly on his next target, the bed. Maybe, possibly, he could manage to sleep through at least a few of the hours Phlox thought it would take for his body to return to normal.

Mal was kneeling by the far side of the bed, watching him speculatively, but he said nothing when Trip threw himself down on the mattress and tried to find a comfortable position. "Just—don't touch me, please, and don't get on the bed, okay?" Trip pleaded, not looking at the other man.

"Okay," Mal agreed softly, and Trip wanted to stab himself in the heart—Mal was just trying to do something, _anything_ , to help him.

He started out on his left side, knees drawn up. Then his back. Then his right side, legs straight out. Then his stomach, with one leg hitched up for added room. Then back on one side. Then he propped all the pillows up behind him and reclined against them, like he did sometimes when he was trying to sleep with a cold. After about ten minutes Trip came to one conclusion: There was no possible position that was going to offer him any relief at all, certainly not on a level where he could fall asleep.

Sighing he threw the blankets back and sat up. In the corner where he'd curled up, Mal became alert, eager as always to assist. "I'm gonna take a shower," Trip announced.

Obviously Trip had tried the shower route before. When he'd first noticed the, er, problem, before he'd _realized_ it was a problem, he'd allowed a little more time for his morning shower, indulged himself a little... and found to his frustration that he couldn't actually seem to alleviate his discomfort in the usual manner. Later he'd tried the traditional cold shower but it hadn't helped either, except for making him shiver. But maybe now, Trip thought hopefully, now that he knew what the problem was, maybe he'd be relaxed enough to actually give himself a little relief. That was the plan, anyway.

Warm water, check. Nice soapy lather, check. His favorite fantasies in all their graphic detail, check. Building anticipation and pressure, check. Sweet release? Not so much. Instead he was getting nothing but friction and frustration. Trip had never been the type of young man to tell his reluctant date that he was going to _die_ if he didn't get some satisfaction from them; but right now, at this moment, he could understand why it was a plausible fear.

The water was steaming up the shower—he'd turned it hotter and hotter, as if that would help. It was also making him a little dizzy, or maybe that was restricted blood flow. Trip slapped his palm against the wall in vexation and left it there, propping himself up when a wave of light-headedness hit him. Maybe the shower hadn't been such a good idea after all.

There was a cooling breeze suddenly, which Trip almost ignored until it was followed by a hand trailing down his naked hip, then his head snapped up and he forced his eyes to focus. Mal was kneeling before him, clothes being drenched by the shower, gently stroking from Trip's hipbone to his knees, a plaintive expression on his face.

"Mal—" He could barely speak.

"I can help you," Mal told him, and it sounded like a plea to Trip's ears. "I can make you feel better."

"No, don't—"

"Let me try," he persisted, the caresses driving Trip's heartbeat and breathing up despite their relative innocence. "I can do it."

"Please—" Trip's voice was ragged; he didn't even know if he was saying please yes, or please no anymore.

"Please," Mal echoed, and the whispered word broke the last of Trip's resistance. He braced his other arm on the wall, resting his forehead against it with his eyes firmly closed, pretending it was anyone in the universe other than who it was, some random exotic alien at an outpost, the cute ensign from Astrometrics he'd seen at breakfast, anyone. The touches were tentative at first, exploratory, and Trip bit back his moans, as if to indulge in them would indicate he was enjoying himself too much. Not that Mal needed that kind of encouragement; he could feel what Trip felt, roughly speaking, he knew what moved Trip the most. It didn't seem to occur to him that Mal might meet with the same lack of success Trip himself had; it felt entirely different, electric, liberating, like things were actually _working_ instead of just being pounded against an unyielding brick wall.

Trip had gotten so used to the constant pressure and ache that when it suddenly broke in a wave of relief, pleasure spiking like pain, he was actually taken by surprise. He felt like he was falling, collapsing really, but he knew Mal would be there to catch him, he always was, so he let himself go boneless without worry. Not that he could have stayed upright, or in any other way been responsible for his actions, his release from tension was so acute. The next thing he was sure of was being bundled into bed, still slightly damp from the shower, incomprehensible words being whispered into his ear, soothing touches trailing along his cheek and through his hair. He was too tired to even open his eyes again before he lost track of his surroundings completely.

The respite was cruelly brief. Roused from his nap by a familiar insistent urge, Trip's lids fluttered open reluctantly, his eyes adjusting automatically to the sight of Mal's face only inches from his. Beads of water from the shower were still sliding down his temple. Trip found his hand halfway out to catch one before he realized what he was doing and yanked it back.

He tried to turn away, bury his face in the pillow while he still had some conscious thought. He felt sick to his stomach, whatever meal he'd eaten last churning with his violent emotions. G-d. He had f—ked everything up, hadn't he?

A touch on his bare shoulder, and Trip shuddered. "Do you want me to—" _No_ , he screamed in his mind, even as he leaned into the breath dancing across his skin. "You've been asleep for about ten minutes," Mal went on, so matter-of-fact yet tender. "Maybe I could just—" He hand skittered over Trip's ribs under the blanket, moving downward.

Trip's body threw itself forward in encouragement, despite his verbal protests. "No, just don't, please don't—" The hand stilled immediately.

"It helped before, a little bit," Mal reminded him softly. "Just let me—"

Trip couldn't think, not with the hand on his skin, not with his body apparently deciding to just go on without him. "Do it," he agreed through gritted teeth, eyes sealed shut again. "Then we'll talk—" He lost coherent thought for several minutes as Mal applied himself as assiduously as he had before, though from a more awkward angle this time. Trip felt paralyzed in place, unwilling to move a millimeter for fear he would lose control entirely. The peak, when it came, was less intense than the first one, but then again so had the discomfort been.

Vaguely he was aware of Mal disappearing for a few moments, then returning with a warm, wet cloth and beginning to clean him up, all the while murmuring quietly. Trip tried to listen. "...such a mess, isn't it, we'll get that nice and clean now, wouldn't want a mess in the bed..." Trip's breath hitched and he started laughing—of course Mal would want things to be clean, no matter what the situation, so typical... The laughter spiraled out of control, until Trip's lungs hurt but he just couldn't stop the hysterical noises. He tried to muffle them by shoving his head under the pillow but his body kept shaking anyway, and he could feel Mal's concern in the hands rubbing over his back and shoulders. "Shh, shh..."

"Just-just leave me alone," he finally gasped out against the mattress. "Please. Just get out. Lock the door from the outside." So he couldn't escape and assault anyone else.

"Trip," Mal's voice was right at his ear, sweet but firm. "Trip, do you know when Viridians reach sexual maturity?" It was such an odd question that Trip was momentarily distracted from the laughing/sobbing, allowing it to subside. "I was reading about it. Around age four, Trip." If that was supposed to make him feel better, it didn't. Children were four years old, dogs were four years old. _This_ imagery only made him more nauseous. Mal continued stroking the back of his neck, his hair. "Do you know how old I am, Trip? Dr. Phlox says I was about two years old when I met you. That was almost two years ago."

Trip felt like his brain had been removed from his head, wrung out with a good strong twist, and replaced backwards and upside down. In other words whatever Mal was trying to tell him wasn't really sinking in. He was, however, intrigued enough to peek out from under the pillow, just a little, sniffling self-consciously. Mal smiled at him, bringing his thumb to Trip's mouth to gently caress his lips. "I would really like to kiss you, Trip," he added, and that at least Trip could understand. Literally, anyway, if not exactly the motivation behind it.

Mal pushed the pillow aside and slid his hand back behind Trip's neck, encouraging him to lift his head a bit and scoot forward. The painful ache had eased for the moment; but there was a new feeling, a fluttering in his stomach that wasn't exactly nausea although remarkably close to it. He felt like he wasn't really in control anyway, or like he had somehow left normal reality. Although a subspace anomaly had nothing on the jolt Trip experienced when Mal's lips brushed his own, gentle and light.

Mal pulled back, barely enough to be called pulling back, but the loss of contact was so disconcerting that Trip surged forward after him, his hand threading through Mal's soft hair, tongue nudging his lips apart and tangling with his own, sweeping the inside of Mal's mouth like he was on a vital mapping expedition. He refused to part with the other man until he was so light-headed and panting that he couldn't continue.

"Did you—did you—" Trip began between shallow breaths. His focus sharpened like quicksilver. "Did you brush your teeth?"

"Well—yes," Mal replied, slightly taken aback.

For a moment Trip thought he was going to start laughing again, but he headed off the bubbling panic by grabbing the back of Mal's head and pulling him into another long, hyperventilating kiss. "Don't," Trip gasped, his lips still moving against Mal's. "Taste me on you..." He wasn't sure who the low moan came from, but it reverberated through both of them.

Trip yanked Mal's shoulder, trying to pull him bodily into the bed, at the same time Mal was trying to climb in himself. They ended in a tangled pile of blankets and limbs, Trip scrabbling to feel skin under Mal's loose clothes, any skin, anything. He could feel the heat rising in him again, or maybe it had never really subsided in the first place, he couldn't tell. Either way he knew there was only one person who could bring him release from the impending ache, and at least for the moment it didn't seem so wrong that it was Mal, because who knew him better? Not even Jon knew him as well as Mal.

And Trip certainly didn't intend to be selfish. He pushed Mal's t-shirt up enough to get a good start on kissing his entire chest, pausing to pay extra attention to any parts that seemed particularly sensitive. Given that the emotional bond was only one way, Trip had to rely on more traditional cues to tell him when Mal was enjoying something—moans, gasps, murmurs, and his new personal favorite, a low growl. He worked Mal's pants down and began returning the first of two favors he owed, although even that level of reasoning was rapidly slipping away from Trip. Mal's fingers threaded gently through his hair, caressed his face and neck, not directing just keeping him close. As if Trip was going anywhere right now. If he were able to think about it critically, Trip would've had to admit that this particular instance was not exactly going to be a shining example of sophistication—more enthusiasm than expertise, in other words—but from the noises Mal made from beginning to end he certainly seemed to appreciate it.

Trip scooted himself back up the bed and launched into another assault on Mal's swollen lips. He felt the other man groan at the new taste on his tongue. "See?" he whispered breathlessly when he could bear to have a few millimeters between them.

"Hmmm," Mal commented thoughtfully. "Bit salty, isn't it?"

Trip snickered and buried his face against Mal's neck, soon intently focused on sucking and licking a mark even Mal's quick healing abilities wouldn't be able to erase easily. He was distracted more than momentarily by Mal's hand sliding down his ribcage, however.

"Do you want me to...?" Mal asked, his touch delicate but teasing. Trip's full-body shudder, accentuated with a moan, answered his question, but before he could tighten his grip the other man grabbed his wrist.

"Hang on," Trip gasped, although that was exactly what Mal intended to do. "You need‑‑"

A picture appeared in Mal's mind, courtesy Trip, and the dark-haired man rolled briefly onto his back, pulling an impossible stretch to reach into the drawer beside the bed. Trip practically drooled over the flexing muscles, wondering only briefly why they had wasted so much time sleeping in the same bed fully clothed. Mal moved back into Trip's embrace, his hand now slick with lotion. "Better?" he asked, resuming his earlier activity.

Much better. Trip was beyond speech at this point, however, so he wound his fingers through Mal's hair and pulled their lips together again. His tongue didn't find its way home for several minutes, until he finally had to tilt his head back, gasping for air and begging for release. But begging in a _good_ way this time.

Mal obliged him. They lay quietly after that, the only sound ragged breathing from Trip as his body calmed down a bit. The unyielding tension was replaced by utter lethargy. He felt more than a little bad falling asleep so quickly, but he also knew in a few moments he would cease to care about that. While he still could Trip groped for Mal's hand, twining their fingers together. "Thanks," he mumbled against Mal's lips, although the word seemed hideously inadequate. He felt Mal smile in return, then nothing.

 

Groggily Trip awoke to a darkened cabin, limbs heavy with exhaustion but one appendage throbbing too insistently to continue sleeping. He groaned a little as he moved, having hoped that perhaps the vivid but disjointed images flickering through his mind were fragments of an unusually tactile dream and not, in fact, memories. Although the warm, naked thigh he was cuddled against seemed to dispel that hope.

"Here, drink this," Mal told him, shoving a straw against his lips. A thought occurred to Trip about what he'd rather have in place of a straw, but he sipped anyway, trying not to choke on the water. "You need to stay hydrated."

At least the drink—or rather, the cool liquid that somehow spilled onto his hot skin—served to wake Trip up a bit more. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, his voice scratchy and thick to his own ears.

"About an hour," Mal shrugged. The planes of his pale face were lit from beneath by the data pad he studied. "I think you're getting better."

Trip was marginally less interested in his own condition than in whatever the man who could relieve it was so focused on. "What are you doing?" he insisted, reaching without coordination for the data pad.

"Research," Mal told him succinctly. "What do you think of number 37?"

He handed the data pad to Trip, whose eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the illustration of number 37. "Oh, G-d, you're looking at _porn_?!" he exclaimed, shoving himself up on his elbow. He was really going to h—l for this—next his corrupted companion would be picking up hookers and mainlining hallucinogenic drugs.

"It's not _pornography_ ," Mal contradicted primly, snatching the data pad back. "It's instructional. This particular database article describes one hundred and seventeen different sexual positions for two male partners." He frowned at the screen a bit. "Some of them require accessories," he admitted. "Do you happen to have any—"

"No!" Trip assured him peremptorily, not even wanting to hear the rest of the sentence. He threw himself on his back, pulling away from the heat source that was Mal's body and shoving some covers aside. G-d, he was so hot. Hot and exhausted and restless and shivery all at once.

"Are you alright?" Mal asked with concern, leaning over him. He touched his hand briefly to Trip's forehead and cheek. "Perhaps we should take your temperature—"

"Not unless you're going to stick the thermometer somewhere other than my mouth," Trip replied, grumpy and libidinous at the same time. He always got cranky when he hadn't had enough sleep.

"I thought you said you didn't have any accessories?" Mal questioned, a confused expression on his face. Trip stared at him in the dim light, then Mal grinned suddenly. "That was a joke," he pointed out.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Hilarious."

Mal held the data pad over Trip's eyes again. "What about number 52?"

"Too athletic," Trip judged, trying to regard the simple illustration clinically.

Mal scrolled the screens. "Number 87?"

Trip blinked at the image. "Which of us is red and which blue?" he asked, gazing at the tangled cartoon figures.

"I would be blue," Mal suggested.

Trip's eyebrow went up. "Are you that flexible?" Mal simply smiled at him. "D—n." He gave it some thought but ultimately had to dismiss it. "Too convoluted."

"Mmmm... Well, then something more basic," Mal decided, choosing a new picture. "Number 3."

Trip's finger slipped as he regarded the drawing, hitting one of the buttons on the screen. The red and blue figures jumped to life, demonstrating their act with about five seconds of motion. The carnal cartoon was both ridiculous and erotic at the same time. "Three it is," Trip decided, tossing the data pad aside and reaching for Mal.

 

Mal was on his other side when Trip swam up from the bottom of the thick, murky lake that was his interrupted sleep. He was still gazing intently at the data pad but set it aside when he saw Trip was awake.

"Drink this," Mal ordered, pressing the straw on Trip again. He drank, sloppily, and coughed when it went down the wrong way.

"How long this time?" Trip asked pessimistically, pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Hmmm, about this long," Mal replied smartly, delineating a generous amount with both hands.

"You are not the least d—n bit funny," Trip grouched at him. Although to be completely honest he was just a little pleased that Mal seemed to be taking this new... duty well. Of course Mal loved _any_ kind of affection from Trip—which was something Trip was just not going to think about right now, even if he seemed to have a little more brain power at the moment.

Mal just smirked. "Three hours or so. You're getting better."

Trip leaned back against the cool headboard of the bunk with a sigh. "I'm starving," he realized after a moment, hand on his growling stomach. Well, he _had_ been using a lot of energy lately.

"I know," Mal assured him, sliding out of the bed. Trip immediately missed the feeling of his weight on the mattress, even if he had a good view of Mal pulling his trousers on to compensate him. "I was waiting until you were awake to leave for food." A spike of panic shot through Trip and Mal turned on him, sensing it. "Are you alright?"

Trip shoved the fear down into the darkness. "Yeah, fine," he insisted, although his voice was a little strangled. For some reason the idea of Mal leaving the cabin filled him with anxiety. It was irrational, and Trip knew it, and still he felt it.

Mal knelt before the bed, folding his arms along the edge of the mattress and resting his chin on his hands. "You want me to do anything first?" he asked politely, eyes flickering unmistakably down.

Trip crossed his hands over his lap a bit awkwardly. "No, not at all," he told Mal coolly. What was he, a machine that had to be serviced on a regular basis? _Well, at the moment..._ "Go get me something to eat."

Not offended, Mal stood and finished dressing quickly. "I thought perhaps while I was gone you might want to take a shower," he suggested, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his boots on.

Trip had been thinking about how best to pounce on Mal without completely knocking them both onto the floor, but he narrowed his eyes as he considered the statement. "A shower?" Mal wiggled his nose in response. "Oh, like you don't smell just as bad as I do," Trip retorted.

"Actually I took a shower while you were asleep," Mal informed him cheerfully, and Trip rolled his eyes.

"Get out and get me some food," he ordered, more exasperated than mean. He could certainly stay here by himself for ten or fifteen minutes, take a shower, change the sheets for that persnickety creature sharing them, enjoy a meal when Mal got back... He surely had enough self-control for _that_.

"Okay," Mal agreed. He leaned in to give Trip a good-bye kiss that escalated rather quickly.

"D----t," Trip hissed, pushing Mal back. What had he been thinking about self-control? "Go away."

Mal gave him one last smile before walking out, and Trip couldn't help feeling his chest constrict when the doors closed behind him. _Focus_ , he ordered himself. _Shower_. He _did_ smell kind of rank, he had to admit as he moved from the bed.

Mal picked up a serving tray from a stack in the corner of the Mess Hall, balancing it carefully on his arm. He was pretty hungry as well, having missed at least one meal and a couple of snacks so far. Not that he blamed Trip, of course; he was sick, he needed to be taken care of. Of course, this particular kind of illness also had some side benefits for Mal—he wished Trip weren't sick at all, certainly, but personally he preferred these symptoms to the projectile vomiting from last year.

Mal was loading up the tray with a liberal selection of entrees from the shelves when he felt someone at his side. "Sorry, just a minute," he murmured to them—he was, after all, engaged in a very important task.

"No rush," a familiar voice replied, and Mal turned to see Travis smiling down at him. "All that for Trip?"

"Um... mostly me," Mal told him, bending the truth a bit.

"How's he doing, anyway?" Travis continued, with some concern. "Heard he was sick as a dog."

_In heat._ "He's really tired," Mal revealed to the ensign, not feeling at all bad about lying. Or rather, concealing part of the truth. He didn't even have to use his bond with Trip to know if the man wanted _anyone_ to know any details about his illness. "He's actually asleep right now. I should probably get back before he wakes up..."

Travis took the hint and stepped back. "Sure, of course, man. Tell him we're thinking about him, okay?"

"I will do that," Mal assured him genuinely.

He almost made it out of the Mess Hall before being stopped again. This time it was Hoshi, whom Mal considered a friend, as much as he had them. "Mal! Hey, how's Commander Tucker? Is he doing okay?"

"Um, yeah, he's okay," Mal told her, slightly uncomfortable. He knew Trip was waiting for him and didn't want to push him. "I mean, he will be. He's just really tired right now. Thanks for asking, though," he added with a smile.

"I heard it was some weird disease he brought back from that ship?" Hoshi probed. Mal's smile turned into a bit of a smirk, as he knew the Comm Officer could be a little on the... gossipy side. Occupational hazard, she had once said.

"Doctor Phlox says he'll be fine," Mal non-answered, "but he shouldn't have any visitors yet."

"Oh, okay," she nodded. He felt assured that the restriction would spread throughout the whole crew within a few hours. "Tell him to get well soon!"

"Of course," Mal agreed, finally getting out of the room.

"Mal," a stern voice from down the hall announced before Mal had gotten more than a few meters. He turned back to see Lt. Marcus approaching him and stifled a sigh. "How's Trip?" the security chief asked when he'd gotten closer. Even as he spoke to someone he'd known for years in the middle of _Enterprise_ 's hallway, the man glanced from side to side for evidence of suspicious activity.

"He's doing okay," Mal repeated. "He's just really tired right now. I was just bringing him something to eat," he added, indicating the tray.

Marcus glanced over the food impassively, then fixed Mal with his piercing gaze. "I heard a rumor that this might have been a deliberate attack by the Zeenabians," he remarked, with his usual distrustful tone.

Mal tried to look innocent. "I don't think so," he claimed, in a tone of voice that screamed plausible deniability. "Perhaps you should ask the doctor about that."

"Phlox wouldn't tell me anything," Marcus answered dismissively. _Well, of course not._

"The Captain, then?" Mal offered helpfully.

"He's rather close-lipped about it, too," Marcus mused, mind racing.

Mal let him brood for a moment. "Well, I've really got to get back to Trip now," he finally stated, making the most sincere statement he had for the entire conversation. Normally he wouldn't be so rude as to turn his back on a senior staff member and walk away, but of course Trip's comfort and safety took precedence over everything else. And right now he could feel Trip's agitation, in multiple senses of the word, projecting loud and clear.

Mal managed to dodge at least three more well-wishers on the way back to Trip's quarters. It was rather nice that they were all so concerned about their Chief Engineer, but the last thing Mal needed was Trip dashing out into the hall, wild-eyed and disheveled, to jump him in front of all the crewmembers telling him to get well soon. Not that that scene would do Trip any good, either.

One more turn of the hall and Mal would be back in the cabin they shared. And that was when he heard the voice of the one person on the ship he wasn't _supposed_ to dodge. Mal had ignored Captain Archer before, of course; Trip always won out. But Mal knew that Trip wouldn't _want_ him to snub Trip's old friend and commanding officer, if at all possible; and besides, even if he did, it was likely Captain Archer would just barge into Trip's quarters on his own and see _far_ more than any of them wanted to.

"Mal." The dark-haired man pivoted slowly, hoping the expression on his face and the tray full of food would say what he really didn't want to. Archer stopped right in front of him, glancing around to make sure the hallway was empty. "So how's Trip doing?" he asked in a low voice.

Mal was about to give his usual line, then remembered that the Captain knew a few more details than most people and could probably be given a bit more information. "He's getting better," Mal began. "He's been rather... uncomfortable at times, though."

Archer nodded thoughtfully. "Bringing him dinner?" he commented, glancing at the tray.

"Yes, he's quite hungry," Mal confirmed, without saying exactly why. "Rather tired too, he has trouble sleeping." Or at least sleeping consistently. "But he's getting better." Anxiously Mal glanced behind him, the way he wanted to be walking, to Trip's cabin.

"Hey, what's that—" Archer tapped the side of his own neck, mirroring the location on Mal he was curious about. "Looks like a bruise or something."

"Oh, um, I don't know," Mal replied, completely mystified. And wondering why the Captain was taking up his time with such trivialities. If it _was_ a bruise, Mal would soon be healed of it. "I should really—"

"Trip isn't getting—violent, is he?" Archer inquired sternly. "I know he's not necessarily... in his right mind at the moment, but that's no excuse for—"

"No, Captain!" Mal assured him emphatically. "Trip wouldn't hurt me. He wouldn't hurt anyone." At least in the sense he thought Archer meant. What was waiting for him on the other side of the cabin door might be described as 'violent' by some, he supposed, but the Captain didn't really need _that_ much detail.

Archer knew a few people who would disagree with the idea of Trip being totally harmless, like the various combatants he'd seen and usually helped Trip clobber, but he understood Mal's point. "Alright then. But if he _does_ , I want to know about it immediately. Understand?"

"Yes, thank you, Captain," Mal replied quickly. "I've really got to get back to him, though, he'll be wondering where I went..."

"Right, sure," Archer agreed. "Tell him to... take it easy." _Easy, hard, fast, slow..._

"Of course, thank you, Captain," Mal replied, even as he was backing away.

Knowing he'd be assaulted the moment he entered the cabin, Mal carefully set the tray of food down outside the door and keyed his entry code. Sure enough, before the door had even slid open all the way, an arm was reaching out to yank him inside and seal the door behind him.

Trip shoved Mal up against the nearest wall, attacking him with a furious kiss before he gasped out, "Where've you _been_ , I _needed_ you—" They tumbled onto the bed—freshly made, Mal noticed dimly, while Trip's slightly damp clothes and hair offered proof that he'd taken a shower as well—and tangled with each other, rolling and grasping and rubbing. Trip couldn't even seem to stay still long enough for Mal to get a grip on him, in _any_ sense.

"—gone for _hours_ , _needed_ you here, you were _gone_ —" Trip kept muttering accusingly.

"I know, I'm sorry," Mal told him soothingly, then found something even more helpful to do with his mouth. Although he practically had to pin Trip's hips to the bed in order to do it and was nearly choked to death for his trouble.

Fortunately for both of them it was over quickly, though Trip was probably going to have a h—l of a bruise on his rear from when he'd finally slipped off the bed and sat down hard on the floor. He collapsed on top of Mal, who lowered them both the rest of the way down a little more carefully.

"I'm sorry," Trip mumbled a few moments later, humiliation rolling off him in waves. He sniffled, his face buried against Mal's shoulder, and Mal rubbed the back of his neck gently.

"It's alright," he assured him, rethinking whether this was _really_ so much better than projectile vomiting. At least Trip hadn't felt he should be able to _control_ the nausea and was somehow a bad person because he couldn't. "I'm sorry I took so long. I wanted to come back sooner... Everyone was asking me about you."

Trip lifted his head suddenly to glare down at Mal, despite the wetness on his cheeks. "What 'd you tell them?"

"That you were very tired, but getting better, and couldn't have _any_ visitors," Mal replied with a reassuring smile. "Even the Captain stopped me..."

"Oh, G-d," Trip groaned, rolling off Mal. He lay flat on his back on the floor, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "What'd you tell _him_?"

"About the same," Mal shrugged, turning on his side to face Trip. "You made the bed," he remarked after a moment. "That's lovely."

"Yeah, and I took a shower, too," Trip snipped, "so your delicate nose wouldn't be offended."

"Very kind of you," Mal told him dryly.

Trip winced and rubbed his stomach. "You didn't bring back any food," he noticed suddenly. "Mal, I'm gonna die here if I don't get anything to eat!" Mal smirked, clambering to his feet before the threat was even finished.

"And you complain about _me_ being a baby," he scoffed lightly, opening the door to retrieve the tray from the hallway.

They ate right on the floor, Trip devouring two roast beef sandwiches slathered in mayonnaise and stacked with cheddar cheese. Mal watched a bit enviously, Trip's enthusiasm for the food inspiring his own interest, but Trip was halfway through the second one before he realized he might have asked if Mal wanted it. And Mal, of course, had absolutely no intention of telling Trip anything other than 'no.' The mayonnaise might have gotten him a bit tipsy anyway, he pointed out. "Well, G-d, we wouldn't want that," Trip deadpanned darkly, thinking that he could use a little liquid oblivion himself. An idea occurred to him. "Hey, Mal, could you—"

"No," Mal responded firmly, starting on his second plate of chicken.

Trip blinked at him. "You don't even know what I'm gonna say!"

"I _do_ know," Mal countered coolly. "Something about alcohol and you getting too drunk to think about anything." His tone clearly indicated he found the idea beyond distasteful.

Trip glared at him, stabbing a boiled potato viciously. "I don't know why _you_ would mind so much," he grumbled, mashing the potato beyond recognition. "Least you could walk across a room without gettin'..." He didn't know what word he wanted to end that sentence with. Something unpleasant, certainly.

Mal pushed the food between them aside and knelt before Trip, frowning at him. When Trip wouldn't look at him he tilted the other man's chin up, trying to catch his gaze. "You're not making me do anything I don't want to do," he pointed out softly.

"Of course you'd say that," Trip replied, unconvinced. "You don't want me to feel bad about it."

Mal blinked at him. "You're right, I don't," he agreed slowly, with some confusion. "Because there's no reason for you to feel bad."

"I'd say there's _plenty_ of reason at this point," Trip countered, pushing himself off the floor. He kept his back to Mal. "I mean, you already clean up after me, take care of me when I get hurt, _and_ risk your life to save my sorry a-s about every other day. I think I ought to draw the line at makin' you a sex slave, too."

Mal crossed his arms over his chest. "On the other hand," he retorted smartly, "you _could_ say, at least I'm enjoying myself this time." Trip spun around to stare at him and Mal immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, standing up and sliding his arms around Trip. "I didn't mean I don't enjoy the other things—"

He felt Trip chuckle in his arms, although he sensed there wasn't much humor behind it. "Glad to know you _enjoy_ risking your life and cleaning up after me," he commented wryly.

Mal pulled back just enough that he could see Trip's face. "Trip, I don't know what you want me to say," he admitted. It was a rare sensation, but Trip's emotions were such a jumble right now Mal couldn't untangle them. "You're not... taking advantage of me. In a bad way, I mean. I'm here to do whatever you want, whatever you need. _That's_ what I enjoy, _that's_ what I want to do." Trip seemed on the verge of protest. "Even if I were younger and didn't really understand anything about sex, I would still want to do whatever you needed, whatever would help you," he added earnestly.

Trip stepped away from Mal, pushing his arms aside. "Yeah, that's the problem," he tried to explain, intensely uncomfortable—emotionally, not physically at this point. Although he suspected that could only be staved off for so long. "I mean, you don't really understand—It's not supposed to be something you do to _help out_ someone else, okay? It's not supposed to be a favor, or a duty. At least," he sighed, " _I_ don't think it is." Trip paused, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say next without sounding like a complete a-s. Then he realized that sounding like a complete a‑s was really the least of his problems right now. "In _my_ opinion... sex is something that's done between consenting adults. Between equals."

Trip forced himself to watch as understanding dawned across Mal's face. Understanding, and a variety of other less pleasant emotions. "Oh, I see," he finally said quietly. "And we're not equals, are we?"

"Mal, I don't mean it like—" But he _did_ , didn't he? "I don't think of you as my—servant or anything like that—"

"No, you're absolutely correct," Mal interrupted. "A _kaldin_ is considered superior to a _ragnish_ , even if we were both Viridian we wouldn't—"

"No, I don't mean, I'm superior and you're—" Trip was getting frustrated trying to explain what he meant, probably because _he_ didn't even understand what he meant, really. "You're my—friend"—although that word didn't quite seem right, either—"but you didn't get to _choose_ , did you?"

"What?"

Trip thought he might have hit on it. "You said you're at the usual age when Viridians start thinkin' about sex or whatever," he reminded Mal. Mal nodded. "Well, who on the ship do you find attractive?"

"You," Mal answered, confusion evident.

"Come on, who else?" Trip prodded. "I mean, you ever find yourself starin' at T'Pol, or wishing the Captain would kiss you, or daydreaming about Marcus?"

The expression on Mal's face said more than his words ever could. "Ugh. No. Why would I think about anyone but you?"

"That's my point!" Trip tried to tell him. "You can't make your choice freely. I mean, if you could date anyone on the ship, I mean really be attracted to them, but you chose to stick with me anyway, that'd be one thing. But you can't do that."

"Are—are you saying you want me to have sex with someone else on board?" Mal asked.

"No!" Trip sighed. "Bet you'd do it if I wanted you to, though."

"I expect I would," Mal agreed.

"That's what I'm gettin' at." Trip sat down on the edge of the bed, worn out from thinking and talking—not to mention all his other activities lately. "Maybe you're an adult, but you're not really consenting, are you?" And Trip could only think of one thing that made _him_.

"You think I don't know my own mind," Mal commented after a moment. "You think I couldn't refuse you."

"Could you?" Trip met his gaze steadily. To him the answer was obvious.

Mal gave it some thought. "Well I think at the moment we're working under extraordinary circumstances," he suggested, sitting down beside Trip. "I mean, if you were trapped in a cave on an alien planet with just one other person, not me, and you were in as much pain as you have been..." Trip looked away, nodding to show he followed. "...who _wouldn't_ try to help you, if they could?"

"Great, _there's_ a fantastic scenario to contemplate," Trip sighed. "Could be a lot worse. Could be trapped in a cave with a sex addiction and... T'Pol."

"Oh, I don't think that would be so bad," Mal opined. Trip shot him a look. "Humans get quite hung up about sex," he pointed out. "At least T'Pol would see it as the only logical course of action."

"Well that's good," Trip deadpanned.

"Hoshi would be worse," Mal decided.

Trip winced at the thought. "G-d, yeah. Or Marcus."

Mal snorted a little. "Yeah, I think that would be pretty embarrassing. At least you outrank him, though," he added. "What about the Captain?" He shuddered on Trip's behalf.

Trip, however, gave a little smirk. "I don't think that option would be so bad." Mal stared at him. "Look, at least Jon and I have been friends for a long time... Not _that_ good of friends," he clarified quickly at Mal's look, "but it'd be less awkward than with, I don't know, Travis."

They both sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Then Mal patted Trip's leg. "Well, now that I've cheered you up..."

Trip smiled a little and captured his hand. "Seriously, Mal..."

Mal's other hand moved to Trip's thigh, sliding up towards the spot that was beginning to burn yet again. As soon as this was out of his system, Trip didn't think he'd ever want to have sex again. "Seriously," Mal responded, leaning in to kiss Trip, "I want to try number 24." Trip didn't resist being pushed back down onto the bed. "And yes, I _am_ that flexible." He looked down at Trip critically. "How long can you hold your breath, by the way?"

"Let's find out," Trip decided.

 

Trip had been asleep for six hours—his usual nightly allotment before a full day of engine repairs and maintenance. And he was only halfway through his medically-imposed isolation period. He had never realized how incredibly long a day was before—they had always seemed so _short_ , really, with so little time to get everything done that needed to be done.

"I wonder how things are going in Engineering," he mused aloud, leaning against Mal's hip in bed. He didn't really want to call down—Hess had better things to do, or ought to, than stand at the comm and read him off statistics. He thought briefly about sending Mal, but apprehension pierced him like a straight pin at the idea of the other man leaving again.

Sensing his disquiet Mal took Trip's hand with one of his own and handed him a data pad with the other. Trip rolled his eyes without looking at the screen. "Fine, fine, we'll try number 37," he agreed gracelessly, "but if someone gets injured _you're_ going to explain it to Phlox."

"How sweet of you," Mal told him sarcastically. "Perhaps you'd actually like to _look_ at the data pad, though?"

Trip turned his attention to the screen and realized it was a diagnostic readout of most of the main systems in Engineering. "Oh." He thumbed through several pages and noticed the readings changing in real time—it wasn't just a static report Mal had acquired for him. "You tied the data pad into the Engineering systems?" he asked in confusion.

"Yes," Mal shrugged. "I knew you would be curious."

Trip sat up a little straighter and tried to force his mushy mind to think through the procedure. "But how did you know _how_ to do that?" he persisted.

"I'm boinking the Chief Engineer," Mal sassed. "I picked up a few things."

"'Boinking'?" Trip repeated, adding some indignation to his voice. "You didn't pick _that_ word up from me!"

"Research," Mal reminded him, waving the other data pad, the one with the non-work-safe content. "Now look, how about number 103?" He shoved his screen on top of Trip's. "Granted, we haven't any cooked spaghetti noodles or colored sequins, but I think they're more for atmosphere than actually necessary—"

"Are you doin' this to _help_ me or to satisfy your _own_ curiosity?" Trip accused, putting his Engineering readouts back on top.

"If it were the latter," Mal told him, scooting down into bed, "I should think it would make you feel _better_ , Commander Guilt-Ridden."

"Have I ever told you you'd make an _excellent_ therapist?" Trip shot back. Though privately he was pleased that Mal was being his usual snarky self... even though he felt his comments earlier about Mal's freedom to choose were still valid.

Meanwhile Mal was just glad Trip was showing an interest in something other than, well, sex. "Phlox called while you were asleep," he informed Trip, nuzzling his shoulder. "He wanted to know how it was 'coming.' Then he chuckled. Is that a joke?"

"A very _bad_ joke," Trip replied. "What did you tell him?"

"I said you were asleep right now, but you were getting better."

Trip gave him a look. "He was satisfied with that?"

"No," Mal admitted. "He wants you to call him back."

"Fantastic." Just what Trip had been missing from his life. "I'm gonna check out these readings first," he decided, perusing the data pad Mal had set up for him again. They were quiet for a few minutes, Mal resting his head on the pillow beside Trip's arm, his breath tickling Trip's skin. _I could get used to this_ , the engineer thought idly, then slapped that thought away.

He'd meant what he said earlier. Mal was bound to him through an accident of fate—Trip had managed to be kinder to him than an outpost of Klingons. It could have been almost anyone, really. So now Mal was committed to risk life and limb on Trip's behalf, put up with his mood swings, clean up his messes. It had been hard enough for Trip to accept all that. He wasn't going to let Mal become his personal pleasure slave as well, someone to tide Trip over in between _real_ dates. Mal could say he _wanted_ to do it, but it was more accurate to say he _had_ to do it. Trip had seen what happened when Mal was prevented from doing what he needed to do for Trip. Trip didn't consider what Mal did a _choice_ , in any sense of the word.

He could be wrong, of course. It was all a little more existential than he was used to thinking about—the notion of free will and all. But to be honest Trip would rather err on the side of caution in a matter like this.

"The antimatter intake rate is a little low, don't you think?" Mal said suddenly, interrupting Trip's thoughts.

The engineer refocused his eyes on the screen and found the number in question. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he decided. "Hess'll just tell me it's within the acceptable parameters..."

"Don't let her push you around," Mal advised sardonically. "Show her that you're the boss."

"Thanks," Trip replied dryly. "Glad to know I have your support."

"Always," Mal assured him.

 

"Well, I want to run a few more tests," Phlox hedged, "but my initial scans suggest the compound has completely left your system."

"Well thank G-d for that," Trip remarked. Now maybe he could actually get some _work_ done around here.

Phlox stepped outside the privacy curtain to run his analyses, leaving Trip to get dressed. Of course as soon as the doctor had exited Mal came in and started fussing. "You know, I have a lot of experience dressing myself," Trip reminded him.

"Hmm, sometimes I wonder," Mal retorted, straightening his collar critically.

"I can put my own boots on, at least," Trip insisted, but he soon found it was easier to just sit back on the biobed and let Mal do it. At least until Mal paused, kneeling on the floor with a boot in hand, and looked back up at Trip. "What? Don't try to sell me on a pedicure again, 'cause that ain't working," Trip warned him sternly.

"No, it's just—" Mal grinned at him suddenly. "I just realized why you don't like the kneeling in public."

Trip started snickering. "That mean you're gonna stop doing it?"

"That seems unlikely, doesn't it?" Mal shot back, fastening Trip's boot. He did, at least, move back when Phlox returned.

"Good news, Commander," the doctor announced cheerfully. "The compound has indeed left your blood almost completely. I'm clearing you to return to your regular duties. However," he added more seriously, "if you should experience similar symptoms again..."

"I'll be right back here, Doc, I promise," Trip assured him, hopping off the biobed. He was eager to get back to Engineering—to working on something he _knew_ how to fix already.


End file.
